Put your Shirt on
by RomericaGO
Summary: AU.WWII. Being a simple air force pilot, Alfred didn't think he'd ever find love on the battle field, or in a hospital room. Mathew just didn't think he'd ever find love with all the blood on his hands. Pilot!AlfredXDoctor!Mathew
1. Prologue

Sometimes I wonder if I would have ever met him in a different scenario; one where we weren't fighting for our lives.

**That would have been great.**

Sometimes I wish he would have known me as a different man; someone who didn't get changed during all the blood shed.

**I wonder if he would have loved the original me.**

Sometimes, I just wish none of this had ever even happened; then maybe we wouldn't be crying every night we think of the front.

**I wish to kiss him without the taste of alcohol and cigarettes.**

Sometimes I would wonder if we would have been happy; if only the bomb that fell from the sky would have encased us in it's warmth.

**Maybe it isn't too late to start over...**

* * *

_**Put your Shirt on**_

When I was young, my Ma left Pa and me. I don't know why she left. We didn't have a perfect family, only because we were always scrambling for money. Was that the reason? I don't know.

But Pa took real care of me.

He fought in the Great War before I was born and came back and married Ma. A few years later Ma had me. I don't remember my birthday; we never had enough money to celebrate it anyways. But on New Years, Pa would always tell me a new story of the front because I was becoming a 'big boy' now.

Normally kids would be proud and amazed at the stories, but I wasn't. I hated them. I didn't want to know what Pa did to all those men. I didn't want to know about the people he killed.

Pa was a nice man though. He always drank, always left me to go to work, but he fed me and held my hand when I cried for Ma. He taught me right from wrong, and always smiled when I yelled at him to stop telling me his stories.

He always patted my head, smiling, and called me his good boy.

When I got older, he taught me how to drive, and taught me how to speak French. I never really knew why, but I'm glad he did.

He made sure I worked out a lot, and every morning we would run two miles before returning home. He'd pop a can of beer and drown it before leaving for work. I would then go to school. I met another person like me; his name was Ludwig.

During recess we would run laps around the school; sometimes we brawled. He was my best pal. We would study at each others house, and he'd protect me from the ghosts in the attic. My Pa loved him, even if he was German. (Pa mentioned he would teach me German, but he never got the chance...)

We grew up together for a long time, but he moved suddenly, and his parents didn't give him a chance to say goodbye.

I remember running on bare feet after his car. I still have the scars on my feet. Sometimes they burn.

I got a letter from him, a month before the government sent me mine.

I was still living with Pa, in the same old house with the ghost in the attic. Pa came home worried and he handed me the mail. I opened the bills first, before opening the large brown envelope. There were over twenty letters folded nicely together, and some were even stapled. I dumped them all over the table, but my eyes instantly went to the last lone paper that slowly fell out of the large envelope.

On that single sheet, he apologized for not saying good bye. He went on saying that his father lied to him, telling him we moved a year after he did, meaning that because of him, he never sent any of his letters. That was until his stepbrother Gilbert (A Prussian I believe) made a trip down here recently and saw Pa and me run into the house after our morning run.

I read all the letters Ludwig wished to send but didn't. I read about his life, his odd family, and the little Italian brothers who moved in next door.

I was happy for him.

I instantly sent a letter, long and cluttered, but I wanted to cry in happiness when I got an answer letter almost two weeks after. We sent four letters in total before the government sent me mine.

Pa opened that one, because he was oddly home early that day. I walked into the house and found him nursing a can of beer, and an open letter crushed in his palm.

"I knew it." He said. He kept repeating it. "I knew it."

There has been tension in the air. I knew there was a war going on in Europe, but I'd hope we wouldn't get involve. Though the extra work in the factories has been good for us, I didn't want Pa's stories to come true. But then Pearl Harbor got bombed...why were we dragged into all this?

He passed me the crumpled letter.

I was 'requested' to make an appearance at the volunteering station downtown immediately. Or something like that; I don't remember reading the paper all the way. But I knew what it meant. Pa hugged me close that night. (I stopped crying for Ma years ago...)

Only one good thing came out of it; I found out my birthday. Guess I'm nineteen years old now, and my birthday is on July 4th. I suppose America has been celebrating my birthday all this time.

I don't really remember all the physical training, testing, and moving around I did in the beginning. I was moved to a few different corps before they finally settled me into the Air Force. I flew a plane almost a month after I moved there. I almost crashed the plane I was so excited.

Pa sent me a letter or two, but they were always short. There were always tear stains, and the only writing I could read was the words _I'm sorry _and _Put your Shirt on._

I didn't really get it at first, and even now, I still wonder. But I guess I can't ask Pa anymore.

Ludwig was also pulled into the army. He sent a letter a week after he got his, and he told me he was getting sent out. I didn't know how long it'll be until then. I still dread thinking it, but he said it's for a good cause. Getting back France and all. I wish him luck.

A few of my friends I met here were also from the previous war. Some were pretty old; others just looked ancient.

They told me this guy Hitler is a real wacko, even if a lot of American's like him. I guess it has to do with his speeches, and how he had Germany rise back from the ashes of the last war. But, look where it got all of us now.

I didn't care though. I was just happy being able to fly a plane, and knowing that whoever I shot down, I didn't have to see them die.

My buddies also made me read this book by some guy named Remarque, a German who fought in the previous Great War. They told me to note a passage about Chance, and told me this Remarque guy was someone to listen to. They would always say, "There's no God out there son, only Chance. Hope and pray he gives you luck."

I prayed for Ludwig, for my Pa, and for myself. Mostly for Ludwig. I wonder how he feels knowing he'd have to shoot down his own people.

The day he was going to be sent out was fast approaching, and I sent a letter to him about Remarque, Chance, and wished him all the best of luck.

At the end of my letter, I told him _Put your Shirt on._ I don't know why, but my hand scrawled out the sentence before I could stop myself. I cried when I didn't get a reply almost two weeks later.

Soon, me and a few others got our first mission. We are to be stationed in Britain, and a few days after that, we'll be sent out for bombing.

I write this entry in hopes that maybe I wont lose myself, and if I do, I can look back and pray I can return to it.

* * *

A/N: ...What did I just write? I don't know if I should be proud of it or...just totally bang my head against the counter. I've been wanting to do this story for a while now but I didn't expect it to turn out like this. Before you get confused, Alfred is writing in a journal entry throughout this chapter. The very beginning is still Alfred but older; he's looking back and regretting, that kind of thing. The following chapters will go back and forth between third POV to Journal entry every once in a while, depending on how I feel. And I wont be following actual battles and such of WWII, because this is supposed to be my own story, right? Yes, I put in Pearl Harbor and D-Day, but I probably wont follow the time line of WWII through out the whole story. We'll see. So, if you guys are interested, tell me! I'll be happy to continue updating. I'm actually pretty excited :P


	2. Ch 1 Meeting the Doctor

No matter the front he would put on, no matter how he denied needing someone to hold him, no matter how many times he walked away from my hold, **he'd come back to me again**. He'd lay himself in my arms, and **I would protect him** from the evils of the world. In the dark of night, with no one to lay eyes upon him, **I'd tug off his shirt, and grasp his bare body to mine... **

* * *

_**Put your Shirt on**_

Log 15, 16:13

Though I have been stationed for a few days now, I am starting my full time today. I am pretty excited, but my boss, Arthur Kirkland, is always scowling at my enthusiasm. He says that we new doctors don't have a right to be excited anymore. We're in such a need that anyone can proclaim to be a doctor with absolutely no training or study under our belts. The others just say he's been working for the army for so long that he became a cynical, grumpy old man. He's really not that old, only about thirty I believe. I really pity him, but I know he doesn't want me to feel that way. He's nicer to me then the others. Maybe because he forgets I'm there sometimes...oh well, I know he cares about all of us, even if he yells at us most of the time. He wouldn't have taken us under his wing if he didn't. It is now nearing 16:30, and Kirkland is yelling at all of us. Again.

Log out

Mathew quickly blew on his journal, checking if the ink was dry, before placing the journal in the drawer of his desk. He quickly placed his coat on and walked out of the office, following the other five 'newbies' as they ran to Kirkland's office. They barged into the office and Mathew politely closed the door behind him. Two made their way to the seats in front of the desk and the rest stood.

There was a deep scowl on their Boss's face as he filed through a few papers. "Damn soldiers.." He mumbled.

He threw the packet of papers at the man closest to him, who caught them in a fumble. He turned sharp green eyes to his subordinates. "We'll be getting a group of pilots and soldiers in an hour the latest. They were attacked in an air raid over our lines in a sneak attack. Prepare for the worst. Get as many supplies ready, and prepare the rooms. Have the nurses make a clear open passage for the new arrivals. Dismissed."

With a flutter, Mathew and the others quickly ran out the room. Mathew instantly set up the ER rooms and got as many of the tools they would need in each room.

"Double them, we're expecting a whole flight team." Mathew doubled the tools and beds.

"Why aren't there any saws!" Mathew reluctantly got them, double in each room.

He didn't want to believe it was going to be that bad. He regretted being excited for his first time.

As he was setting up the last room with another, the first two stretchers came into the building. On them, men with burns and cuts, and so much blood, laid in heaps on the cold stretchers. Kirkland was the first to be there, yelling at the doctors to treat the ones who where coming in, as he pushed two into a room. A nurse was with him.

Mathew grabbed the nearest stretcher to him and puts the man in the closest room. He instantly sets to work, wiping off all the blood and dirt, locating the wounds and beginning to stitch them up. Then he noticed how bad the leg really was. He gives the man an injection, hoping he would quickly fall to forced sleep. He didn't.

There was so much blood around his hands, on the bed, over the man, and on his clothes. He wiped his sweaty brow. He called for a doctor and they quickly went to work sawing off the leg. The screams were deafening.

Once he was patched up, he left him to a nurse and ran to another. Blood managed to get it's way into his hair, but that was the least of his worries.

A man with his organs slipping out of his own fingers was wheeled in and Mathew did his best to fix them back into his body. Others like he came in, a lot of them with half their heads gone, both legs shattered, ribs forced open, and organs falling out of their bodies. The men kept coming, and Mathew was close to breaking down. Twice Kirkland had to push Mathew out of the way as he froze up, and once did he walk out of the room when more men came.

When the onslaught of wounded men eventually slowed, then finally stopped, Mathew leaned his back on the wall and slid to the floor. His hands shook, covered in blood. His chest constricted, his heart beating furiously. His stomach threatened to empty it's contents, but he managed to swallow it down. He clutched his fists together, holding back the tears. Some of the 'newbies' had the same look in their eyes and they passed by Mathew's quivering form without a glance his way. That was okay, he didn't notice them either. He didn't notice anything but the blood on his skin.

* * *

Hours later found Mathew in Kirkland's office, skin red and raw from all the sterile scrubbing he personally put on himself. He still felt dirty, and a failure.

Sharp eyes made contact with his, but they softened a moment later.

Kirkland sighed. "You did pretty good out there...for a rookie."

Mathew chocked. "Don't get me wrong, you disappointed me, but I was ready for that. What surprised me was how well you worked, even if you did run out."

"I'm so-"

Kirkland raised a hand and continued, "Don't apologize. I'll admit I ran out a couple times myself when I first started out. It gets to us all. But the point is, I can't have you doing it again. Something big is going to happen soon, and more men are dieing then from the start. Waves of Americans are coming too, that means something. Hopefully it'll mean the end."

The two were quiet after that, sitting in the office together. Kirkland went back to his paperwork and Mathew stayed in the seat in front of the desk. Mathew appreciated what the Englishman said, and though it might not have seemed much, from Kirkland, that was a praise and a hug. But it did not change the fact that Mathew felt the need for another deep scrubbing. He could still feel the lingering sensation of iron red blood on his hands and arms. He could still hear the screams of _so many_ soldiers. He wasn't prepared for this; this wasn't what he was expecting at all.

Nor was he, or Kirkland, expecting an angry voice yelling for medical attention. It was a hoarse voice, and it wheezed and coughed. "H-help! My...my friend..got shot down! Help, please!"

Kirkland and Mathew both shot out of their seats and ran to the entrance of the hospital, pushing their way through the other nurses, patients, and visitors. Kirkland yelled for people to move and yelled at the visiting soldiers to leave immediately. When they reached the man however, they were surprised to find an American pilot clutching another pilot close to his breast, this one was the most wounded. He was nearly drenched in blood and burned from head to toe. (Mathew noticed they weren't _too _deep luckily). There was something missing from the man, and the two quickly realized it was the soldier's leg. Clear off if they judged right.

Kirkland quickly pushed the American pilot away and with help from a few nurses, got the man situated on a stretcher. He yelled for Mathew to follow and he did so instantly, barely glancing at the man trying to push his way from the other doctors to follow the two.

* * *

When they finally got the pilot bandaged up and clean, they set him up in a room with three other soldiers. The man was hiked up on pain killers and wouldn't be waking up for a while, thankfully.

Kirkland turned towards Mathew as he was quickly checking over the other patients in the room. "Mathew, bring me the pilot who brought the other to my office once you are finished here. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir."

Kirkland promptly walked out of the room. Mathew was left to wonder as he gently wrapped up another soldier's bandages again after cleaning them out. When he was finished with the patients, he quickly made his way around the small hospital. He searched every room, from faculty staff room to the bathrooms, before giving up and asking a nurse. He spoke to a polish nurse who had short blond hair and large green eyes. It took Mathew a second to realize the nurse was a male. While that wouldn't be surprising, it was the male wearing a _dress_ that frightened him a little.

"Ohh, that like, hot American? Berwald like, kicked him out. He didn't have any major wounds, just like, little scratches, you know?" The Polish nurse commented, brushing his hair out of his face while swinging his hip. "The poor thing could like, still be outside I'm sure. He was like all gay for the injured dude."

"Um...thank you." Mathew mumbled before walking away. "...I think."

He slowly trailed away from the nurse, but deep inside, he was grateful for the odd distraction. He'd gladly think of men in dresses then of men dieing...never mind, the thoughts were back. Mathew sighed and rubbed his face hard before going and opening the front door of the military based hospital. As he opened it, a weight fell on his feet, and Mathew jumped away quickly with a slight squeak. He peered at the...male on the floor. Short blond hair, brown leather jacket, with a wrinkled pilot uniform. Mathew quickly dragged the man indoors and shook him gently, hoping he didn't have a head injury. He turned him on his back and began examining his head. There was no bump or bruising. A doctor came by, but Mathew waved him off with a smile. Once gone, Mathew ran his fingers through the man's _soft, wonderfully soft, _blonde hair- "Mmhmm."

It was a groan. And it came from the man below him. He groaned again.

Mathew realized with wide, horror stricken eyes, that he had been messaging a _male _pilot's _head _on the floor at the front of the hospital. Where everyone can see.

He quickly let go of the head and scrambled off the floor. The pilot groaned in pain at the blow to the back of his skull, groggy blue eyes opening instantly. Now there was going to be a bruise.

Glassy eyes searched around him as he slowly sat up. He gently probed his wounded head and winced when he felt the bruise. _"Damn, that's going to hurt like a bitch..." _He mumbled in French, before slowly standing up.

Mathew stared in awe and fear. Awe because the man spoke clear and fluent French, with very little accent. Fear because his face was still burning and now his whole back was pressed against the wall by the front doors. If he didn't look pathetic enough, his rapid heart beat could be heard all the way from China! And the pilot was _handsome. _

Mathew wasn't against a little male loving (living with a French man does that to people...), but this man was down right _gorgeous _and he just made a total embarrassment out of himself and he hit the guys head and he could speak French and-

"Oh, hey, Doc, mind telling me where my friend is? I brought him here earlier, but this guy totally kicked me out! Anyways, he's the short guy with really pale skin, creepy red eyes, and...a missing leg?" The beauty was shifting awkwardly on his feet as he said the last part, but he stared at Mathew with hopeful big blue eyes.

Mathew was at a lost. "Um..sorry...what?"

The pilot laughed. "I was hoping you can take me to my friend! I brought him in not too long ago. Guy with the missing leg and all that?"

"There...there are a lot of men with missing legs. What does he look like?"

The pilot crinkled his nose in thought, and Mathew supplied it as simply 'cute'.

"Well, he's pretty short, with weird gray skin and really huge red bug eyes. If he's awake he'd be pretty loud and cursin' all the time. I just brought him in here Doc. Missing leg and all that!"

Finally his mind started to work. Mathew let out an appreciate sigh and nod his head. "Yes, actually, we just finished patching him up. Oh! Before I forget," he started leading the pilot towards Kirkland's office, away from the patients and rooms. "Dr. Kirkland would like to speak to you first. I think he might have some questions about your friend, but once your done you can visit for a few minutes."

Though Mathew didn't notice, the pilot's long strides became slower, and a look of distress crossed his face. He continued following close behind though.

The two made their way to the head doctors office and entered when given a tight 'come in.' Mathew motioned for the blonde to sit down before asking if Kirkland needed anything else. Mathew did well not to look at the pilot sitting next to him.

"That's fine Mathew. Go take a rest, God knows we deserve it." He said with a wave of his hand.

The pilot snorted but didn't comment, and Mathew was tempted to look. With the permission to leave the suddenly stuffy and stiff room, Mathew walked out without a glance at the blonde pilot.

With the other male gone the office became deadly silent, and no one dared to say a word. After glaring for longer then he'd liked at the pilot, Dr. Kirkland narrowed his eyes and spoke.

"Mind explaining your friends literally ripped off leg, Mr-"

"Jones, sir, Alfred F. Jones."

* * *

A/N: Before I say anything, I apologize for any errors! I don't have a beta at the moment, sorry. Hopefully I can get one soon. I really don't like throwing unedited fiendish chapters at you guys, even if I did read it over again and again just in case. So tell me if you see any errors or anything odd, and I'll fix it right away.

I didn't really want to end it here, but if I kept going, it would be too big and would have been a slower update. Bear with me! -laughs- Any who, this was a chapter in Mr. Canada's POV, first day as doctor. He doesn't seem to be taking it very well...(And yes, the little passage at the very beginning is also in Mathew's POV)

Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews! You guys really motivated me to keep going. I really hope you guys enjoyed the update! (Props to anyone who can guess who Alfred's friend is! -laughs-)


End file.
